You left your boyfriend on the bed, thinking about what you said, then you rustled through the possessions stored inside the shed. You cut open the clouds to color the sky red. You're safe sleeping with the killers if you pretend you're already dead. Father in falsetto asks when you're coming back? When the sun is done, and the sky's forever black. Mother makes your portrait in crumbs upon the plate, sleepy as she sits, oblivious to fate.
A daughter of the darkened sky returns to make her father cry. She took the truth and left a lie, as an answer to her mother's why.
Your brother went to Junction because he heard about the oil, fulfilling his function, getting paid for his toil. Felt no need to plant a seed in the rocky soil - run your con, then move on, from rags to royal. Went out west to Utah, mountain bikes and mormons. Got pulled over in Provo really early in the morning, so he shot the cop and crossed the line deep into the desert. When they finally found him he was hiding in the dirt.
A son will scare his parents trying to be brave, acting like a hero with nobody to save. Crime will kill the time until you kill somebody else. You're grinning with that gun until that gun's turned on yourself.
City cops and state patrol, private security, and federal, all create the disaster they pretend to discover. They flex their tiny badges to separate the lovers. Sirens like coyotes coming from the silence to interrupt your peace and introduce the violence. All we really want is an early retirement: three hots and a cot in a warm environment.
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